Allegiance
by Tendertooks
Summary: They say Draco Malfoy has deflected to the Order, but Harry is suspicious. What is in this snarky Slytherin's head? And can a long lifetime of rivalry be put aside for something better? HD Ficlet


Allegiance 

A/N: Hi everyone. I'm very very sorry that my other fic, The Claiming of Harry Potter, is on a great hiatus, because I've been having some major personal problems. Now that it's slowly easing up, I'm reworking my writing muscles. This fic is more like a drabble, for practice, and is also used as an application for a Harry Potter rpg, called Shadow Ministry. Please enjoy the little ficlet. (There are lots of holes, but just as I said, this is for practice.) I'm working on the next chapter (my old chapter got erased) all over again. I actually would like some Slashfiend company, if anyone has the time. Hehehe. I'm such a loser.

I disclaim all property—it all belongs to J.K. Rowling, and all the other people who bought the rights. I just play with them in my head.

--

"Merlin, Potter, are you _staring_ at me?"

Harry started and looked away, embarrassed. "Only because you're so ugly, Malfoy. Don't flatter yourself."

Harry had thought Malfoy was asleep. The blonde had had his eyes closed as he lounged on the cot in the kitchen.

Grimmauld Place was almost empty tonight, with the exceptions of Ron and Hermione, who were both upstairs tending to Bill. Bill's fiancée, Fleur, was also arriving soon, which was why Harry was stationed downstairs, with the blonde guest.

Malfoy was regarding him disdainfully. "You haven't changed one bit."

"Oh and you think you have?" Harry shot back, meeting the Slytherin's glare dead on. Malfoy brought out a devastatingly handsome sneer.

"Excuse me, Potter, if I fail to garner your respect for me even if I'm sitting here right now, in your abominable hideout, on the other side of the war, away from my parents, friends, and everything I thought I held dear."

The heavy sarcasm grated on Harry's nerves, but he dutifully kept himself in check. Draco had been escorted by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley the night before, with the blonde nineteen-year-old bloody and battered from a rough fight. Harry had tended to the wounds with Hermione, while arguing why the git was there in the first place.

Kingsley had announced Draco Malfoy's deflection after Narcissa's death, but Harry didn't believe a word of it. Even after the Veritaserum questioning, he still held a tight grudge on his schoolyard nemesis, especially after everything that had happened in the sixth year…

Trying to keep a neutral bearing, Harry glanced at Malfoy's wound dressings, and noticed that they needed to be changed _again_. The cursed wounds still hadn't closed properly, and he hoped the other Order members found a trustworthy healer soon.

Harry cocked his head towards the offending bandages. "How are your wounds?"

"Wonderful, Scar face." Malfoy quipped back with much spite, "They feel like they're burning and ripping me into pieces, but other than that, I feel so fantastic I think I'll do a jig to celebrate."

Exasperated, Harry rolled his eyes as he fetched new dressings and potions from the cabinet. He set them down on the coffee table before moving to stand right in front of the injured ponce.

"Right." He said, towering over the other man and aiming his wand on Malfoy's chin.

"Listen here, Malfoy. I don't give a ferret fuck if you _say_ you switched sides. I can't even believe that more than half the Order trusts you. They probably mixed up your dose of Veritaserum or shoved it up your nostrils instead of down your mouth.

"Honestly? I don't want anything to do with you, so you watch yourself around us. I'm warning you to be careful about how you act towards my friends, because I can _always_ find a way to leave you for dead."

Malfoy looked unaffected, even if he was on the business end of a wand. "Just because Dumbledore's dead doesn't mean you rule the whole world, you stuffy loot."

A moment of pure blazing rage coursed through Harry. 'How _dare_ he', was his first thought, but he contained himself. 'He's provoking you, just provoking you,' he repeated in his mind, yet his heart could only agree that it was working. It would only take a spell or two to hex Malfoy unconscious, and he was halfway into casting them.

"Whether or not he's dead I have a right to act as I see fit, Malfoy. Besides, last I remember, I wasn't the one _responsible_ for Dumbledore's death."

There was a moment of complete silence, each adversary neither moving nor saying a word. Then Harry turned and sat on the couch across the coffee table, and began to sort through the medical supplies.

Harry regretted the jibe, and looked up to find a dark flicker in those cool gray eyes. On the whole, Malfoy was impassive, but Harry felt that he had struck a nerve. A thorn of guilt eased its way into his gut, and he visibly grimaced.

"I'm… I'm sorry Malfoy, that was… unnecessary… I didn't mean it."

"Of course you didn't, Scarface." Malfoy looked away, nonchalant, watching the dark kitchen window with sudden interest. Harry pulled his eyes away from the beautiful profile of the blonde's stoic features, and eased his couch to the end of the coffee table so that he could reach Draco's wounds. He met no resistance, nor acceptance, as he began tending.

Harry was uncomfortable with the silence. His sudden rage was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by a quiet guilt and a disturbing amount of confusion. After almost six years of rivalry, and two years fighting parallel each other in the war, Harry felt at a loss about where their relationship now stood. He wondered if Malfoy was considering a personal alliance, or even a friendship. His lips thinned into a tight line as he considered these questions himself, without finding a suitable answer.

And yet a small part of Harry wanted to deliver the olive branch, though he did not know why. It wasn't like he trusted the git, but he felt as if said ponce deserved a second chance.

So with a bit of Gryffindor courage, he blurted, "I'm glad that… you ended up on this side, Malfoy."

Malfoy glanced at him in a derisive manner, but noticing Harry's true and firm expression, he turned away, and gave a curt nod. Harry noticed that as he began washing Malfoy's wounds with his right hand, Malfoy had a firm but gentle grip on his left, fingers interlaced.

They didn't talk much for the rest of the evening.

--

The main door closed quietly. It was dawn, but Harry wasn't asleep.

"Wotcher, Harry." Tonks whispered, as Harry followed her into the kitchen. They both walked as stealthily as possible, until they were a safe distance away from the infamous painting that hung behind the heavy curtain. Harry quietly pulled the kitchen door close.

Tonks wore short red hair with streaks of blonde today, Harry noticed as she dropped her suitcase on the breakfast table and surveyed the surroundings. "Where's that Malfoy brat?"

"Uh..." Harry could feel himself blushing as she focused hazel eyes on him. He turned away, moving towards her to take a seat on the table without making eye contact. "Er, I brought him over to the other guest room. He was getting uncomfortable sleeping on the cot."

Tonks pulled out her coat and laid it on the back of another chair. "Hmm. How about Ron and Hermione? Did Fleur come home? Did you make tea?"

Harry shook his head. "Coffee. Ron and Hermione are out cold, and yeah, Fleur's in Ginny's bedroom, upset that Bill's in one of his, err… moods."

Tonks nodded thoughtfully as she strode towards the coffee pot. "Why coffee, Harry? Why are you keeping yourself up?"

Harry tried to keep his worry away from his voice. "Malfoy. His wounds are still bleeding, and it irritates him, so I change it every two hours or so."

"Ahh. That reminds me— Kingsley said they've located a dependable healer. He's coming this afternoon." She brought her cup and the coffee pot to the breakfast table. "Want some?"

Harry shook his head, but said nothing. He wondered how it looked to Tonks, having him constantly caring for the Slytherin git. And as if Tonks had guessed at his thoughts, she ventured, "Seems to me like you're serving him like a loyal puppy."

"I am not!" Harry sputtered, trying vainly to keep his outrage back. He could feel a full-fledge flush on his cheeks. "Anyone would have to help him if they were stuck in here. I know he wouldn't do the same for me, but I might as well be 'the better man' since everyone expects me of it!"

Tonks chuckled, unperturbed, before lifting a brow and clutching on her filled coffee mug. "Pardon, Harry, if I disagree with you."

Harry was flabbergasted. "You don't expect me to do the right thing?"

"No— the other one. I think Malfoy would do the same for you."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, except instead of washing my wounds with warm water, he'd dunk it in a flaming tar pit." At Tonk's amused snerk, he deflated, and sighed down onto the breakfast table. "His attitude's still as sour as he looks. Even if he pledged his loyalty to the Order, I can't help think that it's some kind of con."

Tonks nodded wordlessly as she sipped her coffee, she and Harry sharing a moment of stillness; a comfortable companionship when one knew the other was deep in thought.

It didn't take long before Tonks stood up, her cup now drained. She smiled at Harry affectionately, ruffling his hair even more, but Harry ignored it glumly and remained with his arms on the table and his chin nestled there.

"Harry," said Tonks softly, "you must be mistaken if you think he dedicated himself to the _Order_."

At this Harry looked up, bewildered. Tonks straightened herself, and morphed back into her bright face and pink hair. She grinned goofily. "If I remember, his exact words were…" she thought for a moment, before startling Harry into an imitating roar, " 'Take me to Potter! I demand you to take me to him at once! I pledge allegiance to Harry Potter!' "

She laughed at Harry's stunned face before making her way towards her bedroom, leaving him alone to think of what that may truly mean. Harry sat for a long while, incredulous, staring at the cooling pot of coffee.

--

Hours later, Harry awoke to a slight movement in his bed. Opening a bleary eye, he broke into a lazy grin.

"What's this, Malfoy? Sneaking into my room? And staring at _me?_"

Malfoy made a scoffing noise, but there was a pink tinge on his cheeks. "Wake up and stop dreaming, Scar face."

"Oh," Harry said, stretching. He was feeling well after a good rest, so gave the other man a cocky look.

"You were staring, Malfoy. But don't worry, I know I'm fetching when I look dead."

Malfoy turned away as if annoyed. "Bugger off. Granger told me to come fetch you for dinner. She's with the French idiot bickering about the beans."

At this, Harry blinked. He didn't realize he had slept through the whole day. "It's dinner already? Where's everyone else?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Weasel went with his father to the Ministry this afternoon, I think. But how would I know where your sad little friends fester?"

Pointedly ignoring the side insults, Harry squinted his poor eyes and inspected Malfoy. From what he could tell, Malfoy was wearing a borrowed shirt, probably from Remus, and was looking clean and more like his old self. There were no more wounds.

"Hmm, I see the healer came over." Harry noted, more to himself.

He looked up and realized Malfoy had been watching him just as thoroughly. He glanced away and tried his best to suppress the heat from his cheeks. Because of his embarrassment, he hadn't noticed that Malfoy had leaned forward towards him, smirking.

"Are you going to get up, or do I have to trail cookie crumbs from this room to the kitchen?"

He glared the blonde with his eyes narrowed, before sliding off the bed and swiping his glasses from the bedside table. With his nose to the air, he marched past Malfoy. "No need to be snarky."

Harry was quick and efficient, brushing his teeth and washing his face with the fluidity of routine. When he came back to his room, Malfoy was already at the door. He approached the blonde and gave him a winning good-morning-though-it's-not grin, which Malfoy did not return.

For once, Malfoy looked uneasy, so unlike his usually arrogant self. Harry felt as if he was in for a confrontation, but he waited patiently.

"Potter…" Malfoy said, after a moment. "The other day. I… I'm indebted to your help. And… What I said…"

It took a long while for Harry to realize that Malfoy was trying to _apologize_. A big, evil part of him wanted to milk this out for all it was worth, but it was grudgingly crushed, as he began pitying his strange and complex rival. The ponce looked like he was going to be eaten.

"—I know." Harry acknowledged, nodding, "It's alright. Shall we start over?" He held out his hand to Malfoy. The blonde stared at it for a moment, and Harry's heart began to hammer. Eight long years ago, Malfoy had offered a very similar handshake, and to him this felt like a repentance of sorts.

Malfoy must have realized that too, for he looked up at Potter's eyes, and gave the best sneer he could have ever mustered. "Yes. We shall start over."

He turned gracefully, and walked himself out the door, completely and utterly ignoring Harry's hand. Harry's jaw fell and a look of rage and astonishment, perhaps mixed with a little amusement, occupied his features. He thundered down the steps after the blonde.

"Malfoy, you stupid _git_!"


End file.
